It was one of them days, the first Thursday of a new month.
When you come to bathe in my river- Forktine Tippecanoe
I woke up early to fetch my own breakfast shuffled cross the deck of my houseboat, yanked hard on my line then up through the air arced a red slider turtle
His shell mad coconut noises as it bounced across my deck

Didn’t crack like some frenchies egg-whips.
So I pried open his shell then shucked his body out, far away in the ocean I could hear oysters giggling

Then I pulled out my father’s father’s helmet, the one he wore in the ‘Great War’.
Filled it full of water, set it on my hotplate to heat up my turtle...

Who I held, cradled in my palm looked like a preemie baby wiggling it’s undeveloped limbs. That’s when I set him into his hot new shell, he gave me clouded eye looks.
I pried open my door, went down to my shore to wash out my helmet.
But you come up behind me so I relieved myself quickly into my helmet, boy, I cannot loosen in my river on this first Thursday.

You step into my river, - Forktine Tippecanoe- but I know that you’re ashamed of your undeveloped body, so I wait deep inside my houseboat...
While you bathe in my river...

And brother, I be waiting on you to commence that joke the one you have pulled year after year after year after year after year....
You swim under my boat you rap on its underbelly, makin’ me shuffle across my deck, makin’ me shuck open my door, makin’ me stretch out my neck, makin’ me look at the cloudless sky, makin’ me laugh by rollin’ your joke, makin’ me say ‘thought someone was calling for me.’

You stick your head out of my river you giggle and speak retarded-ly, said, “brother did you like my joke?’
yes, but it’s left me hungry, could you catch me one more red sliding turtle?

Deep in my house, I am ... giggling, knowing that I had emptied my river of the last turtle. That’s when I heard you come up for air from hunting my river, and I think, aw Christ come next month, there’ll be a first Thursday, what would I like to watch you chase with your fingerless body.
Body body, body...

Maybe I’ll will start on some northern pike, maybe I will start on some fat sunny perch, maybe I will get me some pregnant rainbow trout. I can picture it now, I will roll those un-broke eggs around in my mouth, I will be wearing my father’s father’s helmet, goosestepping in my hobnail boots rapping out a message to the beasts below, telling them someone be coming down to my river, - Forktine Tippecanoe- my river - Forktine Tippecanoe-